It took every ounce of effort the Queen possessed to not go bolting from the room, to leave nothing standing until she found those she'd so foolishly allowed herself to be separated from. 

Her body quivers with the effort staying put causes her.

But she forces it, and watches Aeyliv's movements like a starved hawk as he makes for what remains of the bedroom door. 

There comes a pressure in her palm, and she looks down in time to see Quinn press the dagger once more between her fingertips. 

Elodie flinches, then allows her fingers to curve around its hilt.

A muttered, "Thank you," is all her pre-occupation can allow her before she has turned her gaze once again upon Aeyliv. 

As he sinks into the shadows of the doorway. 

Peers around it like he half expects to find shadows lurking on the other side, ready to pounce, fangs flashing.

But Aeyliv quickly beckons them forward, and its all Elodie can do to not take off running. 

The Prince of the Court of Crows leads the way, acting as something of a dam, holding back the wave of energy that was the two people following his footsteps. The Prince traverses the halls on near silent feet, weaving through corridors at a speed that spoke of familiarity.

Until Elodie begins to recall the surroundings as those she'd been lead through from the hospital wing to the bedroom. 

Memory guides her feet now, as does desperation as she presses on. Pace picking up as she rushes, shoulder to shoulder with the prince now.

Footsteps weighed down with exhaustion. 

Yet lightened with the knowledge that they might be caught at any minute. 

Until finally there is only a great set of oaken doors between herself and 1/3 of her targets.

The Prince moves forward, tries the doorknob with a bony hand, finds it to stick beneath his attempts to shove it open.

Quinn was already stepping forward, already readying a kick but doesn't get the chance.

For the Prince drops to his knee, and with a click and flash of small blades sets to work unlocking the door. 

Surprise after surprise, something at the back of her consciousness notes, fleetingly. 

Bites back the admiration that blossoms with the words, fortunately, distraction presents itself quickly enough as the door swings open.

To reveal Sam exactly where she'd left him.

If slightly more bruised.

The sight of her brightens Sam's features immensely, lighting up the room as easily as any lantern or torch. It's a relief that goes flooding through him, something that Elodie almost finds herself caught in the tide of it. 

A sentiment that has her own eyes stinging fiercely.

She allows the waves of it, that slight flicker of relief - the first in what feels like years, to wash over her. And follows the tide as it pulls her towards her best friend.

A wall of fire and the depths of Hell wouldn't have stopped Elodie from closing the distance then. 

She barely notices she's moved, until suddenly she is at her best friend's side. Dropping to her knees, sore joints ricocheting against the tile floor underfoot.

But all she could focus on was Sam.

"Gods Elodie," the Queen barely recognises his words. "I heard screaming," he darts his eyes toward the great window beside them, staring down into the courtyards below. "I tried to get to you... I thought... I thought the worst." His words are stammering, delirious with fear.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," she attempts to make it sound like reassurance, but it doesn't do much to keep the quiver from her voice. Elodie's promise would have failed to convince even a particularly gullible school-child. "We're going to get you out of here."

Aeyliv has stepped forward, but Elodie doesn't offer him the chance to show off yet more of his lock-picking skills. 

She swipes the Prince's dagger once, twice, three times, inelegant, violent.

Only offering enough precision to make sure she didn't cleave through her friend's wrist with the fury of it.

Again, again, again. However many times it takes until the leather binding Sam's wrists has been rendered to ruined threads, and the younger fae male can work his wrist free and lends her a hand in working his other hand free of its bindings.

By the time Elodie has moved to do the same for Sam's ankles, there comes a ricochet of movement from the door that leaves tension echoing through her veins. 

Quinn and Aeyliv move so quickly, so much like a shadow of one another that Elodie might have believed they'd planned it before hand.

Putting their bodies between the door and herself, the door and Sam, without thinking.

Without questioning it. 

Elodie pauses long enough only to help Sam to his feet, lets him place his weight over her shoulders and by miracle or will-power alone manages not to buckle beneath the weight of it. 

All four of them, each in varying states of exhaustion and bloodiness. 

Ready for whatever was to come through the doors. 

Elodie hadn't expected it to be a familiar face. 

Or as familiar as the fracturing world she knew as home could allow her to recognise.

Two faces appear in the doorway, taking in the contents of the hospital wing, shoulder to shoulder, wings towering above them and blades flashing at each hip.

A wall of power. 

"Charmian," Aeyliv does her the kindness, of putting a name to a face she'd known very briefly, he tilts his chin toward the second man that Elodie doesn't recognise. "Morynth." 

The first was the gentleman who'd allowed her to see Sam before confinement.

The second is looking at her like she's a particularly delicious slice of meat. 

She doesn't let that knowledge leave enough of an impression on her to let her wonder which way this might go. 

Her fingers do not lessen their grip on the dagger, her knuckles pale beneath the tightness of her grip. 

The second fae male lunges, quick as lightning lunging earthward from the heavens. Not for the Queen but for the Prince. 

Aeyliv reacts quickly. 

Charmian reacts even quicker. 

They collide with a fury, a power that should have sent mountains crumbling to ruins. 

Charmian moves with a speed that shouldn't have been possible for his bulk, that sheathed blade in his hands so quickly, so smoothly, Elodie might have mistaken it for a third limb. 

Swinging it, it collides hard with the second fae's shoulder. 

Sends the other man's blade clattering to the ground before the man can even realise there's been an attack at all.

A second blow, this time with the hilt and this time aimed for the temple, drags a cry from the man's throat.  

Morynth, his features a canvas of surprise, betrayal and fury. Or at least those were the emotions that flickered across his expression as his knees buckle out from beneath him. 

A second, well aimed blow rendering the brute of a man unconscious before he even hits tile.

Elodie isn't sure who's more surprised at this turn of events, Aeyliv who'd visibly flinched the moment the blow had landed - as though he'd half expected it to land on his own skull.

Or Charmian, who had delivered it. 

The fae male, now alone and breathing heavily. 

If any of that had been planned, it had been extraordinarily poorly. 

As he steps forward, his wings carried low, his head lower, throat bared. Submission, but there was an alertness to it that felt strange.

Everything about this court felt strange. 

"Your Highness, your parents asked I come find you." 

Even from behind, Elodie can see the tension that wraps its way through the Prince, how every muscle goes taut with the strength of it. 

"I'm not going anywhere," was among the kinder responses that Elodie would have personally gone for, but the Prince's tone rings with power. 

An assertion, an unwavering one at that. 

"I'd assumed as much, Your Highness," Charmian takes another step forward, keeping that stature.

A wall of muscle making itself as small as it can, it might have looked bizarre. 

Had Elodie's eyes barely been able to stay still more than a moment, searching for signs of a threat with every slight movement this newcomer makes. 

As he closes the distance, marginally between himself and the Prince.

Aeyliv doesn't take it as a threat - he's the only one in the room who doesn't.

"What do you know of what's happening out there?" The question echoes over the tile, Aeyliv's voice heavy, like it's hurting him. 

The flinch that works through Charmian tells Elodie this other man might have been tempted to ask the Prince the very same question. 

"I've been given my orders," as though that answer was the most obvious thing in the world. "Bring you to your chambers, keep you there - no matter what it is I hear on the other side of the door." 

Honesty from a man to whom it doesn't come easily. 

A beat, another one. 

Elodie can hear every millimetre of blood that coarses through her veins as she waits. 

"Do you intend to obey those orders, good sir?" He pronounces every word like they might be prone to explode on his tongue if he isn't careful enough with how they roll from it. 

Like the Prince isn't quite sure the other man wouldn't close what remained of the distance, through the young fae over his shoulder and leave them for whatever cruelty found them next. 

Elodie's grip tightens again. 

"No." 

Something in Aeyliv slouches, so subtly Elodie might have missed it. 

Gratitude and relief, a mixture of the two.

It is the Prince who moves this time, closing the distance and brushing past Charmian, footsteps clicking confidently over the floor-tiles now. "Then follow us." 

That, Charmian obeys.